Dean's Choice
by yellowlabluvr
Summary: A strange case has brought the brothers to a city called Maywood. Will they learn the truth before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Maywood, Illinois

The Impala pulled into the motel's parking lot. Sam was asleep in the passenger seat, flashlight and map still in hand. Dean got out and reserved their room for two weeks. Hopefully that would be enough time to figure this mess out. Knocking on the Impala's window, he woke Sam up and they grabbed their bags from the trunk.

"So who are we talking to tomorrow?" Sam asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Dean rifled through some papers.

"A Roberta Jenkins."

"She's the first?"

"No, but hers is the hardest to explain. She was in a car accident almost ten years ago. It was so bad they never found her head."

Sam cringed.

"And now she's back, completely fine?"

Dean nodded as he tossed his duffle at the foot of his bed.

"Yep. Not a scar or broken bone or any hint of injury ever in her life."

They were both exhausted. It had been a long drive. Pulling off his shoes, Dean collapsed into the squeaky bed and fell asleep.

When he woke up the next morning, Sam was taking a shower. His running shoes sat in a corner by the door. Dean rolled his eyes. Running. It still didn't make sense. Once they were both finished with their morning routines, they looked over the information they'd gathered.

"Lets go talk to Roberta," Dean finally said.

Checking on his tie once more, they headed out to find Mrs. Jenkins. The house she lived in was a simple one in a quite part of the neighborhood. It had a nice white picket fence with grass almost too green. Something about these neighborhoods always made Dean uncomfortable and suspicious. Everything was too perfect, too clean. Sam cleared his throat, bringing his brother's attention back to their job. Fixing his tie, Dean nocked three times on the big oak door. It swung open, revealing a sweet looking woman in her fifties.

"Roberta Jenkins?" Dean asked.

"Yes, can I help you?" she asked, her voice laced with a thick Spanish accent.

"May we come in?" Sam asked, offering his most innocent face.

The woman looked around nervously.

"Yes, yes. Quickly."

She slammed the door closed behind them.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"I'm agent Gowan, this here is my partner, agent Phillips. We're with the FBI."

"Look," she said, nervously wringing her hands. "It isn't what you think. I'm not crazy. I WAS dead!"

The brothers offered each other a knowing glance.

"How about we sit down and talk about this?" Sam asked, motioning to her couches.

Nodding, she followed the two of them and they sat.

"So," Sam began gently. "What can you tell us about your accident."

She shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting to the windows.

"I remember it was horrible. I was driving down the highway and a truck jackknifed in front of me. My car slid underneath. I don't really know what happened after that, it got all dark."

"And after that?" Dean prompted when she fell silent.

"Then I was in this… this pit."

Dean sat up straighter and shrugged it off, but Sam noticed. He never talked about his time in the pit and hearing someone else bring it up wasn't easy.

"I was there for so long," she said, voice quiet and timid.

Tears made her eyes look glassy and her knuckles turned white.

"But then there was this… thing. She sounded like a woman, but she had these wings that looked like bat wings and…"

Pursing her lips, she looked quickly from window to window.

"She told me that this wasn't the place for me. Not anymore. Next thing I knew, I was standing on the corner by the gas station on the edge of town."

Dean frowned.

"Just like that? This batwoman appeared to you and told you that you didn't belong in hell?"

Roberta nodded quickly.

"Have you noticed anything strange since you woke up?"

Her eyebrows shot up.

"You mean besides me dying ten years ago and my head never being recovered? No. Not a thing."

They'd been asking for that one.

"Mrs. Jenkins, may I use your restroom?" Sam asked politely.

He had the EMF in his pocket and probably a few other things.

"Um. Sure. It's around the corner. Second door on the right."

Nodding with a smile, he got up and headed off to investigate whatever he could. Roberta turned back to Dean.

"Do you have any family here in town?"

Slowly, she shook her head.

"No. No, my husband and I could never conceive, no matter how much we wanted children."

Dean watched her, hands shaking a little. She was scared, though probably just being back here was hard. If anyone on this planet could understand that, he could.

"Mrs. Jenkins," he began.

"Please. Call me Roberta."

"Roberta," he continued with a smile. "Are you doing alright, being back here? You were dead for almost ten years. A lot has happened here."

Her eyes snapped up to his, glassy with bitter tears.

"Anything is better than that place. I don't care what I suffer here. I don't want to go back to that pit."

He smiled darkly, the memories of the pain he endured and inflicted pushing into his thoughts.

"Believe me Roberta. The last thing I want to do is send you back there. I remember the pit. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemies."

"You? You… died?"

"A few times, now. Yeah. You haven't been back with the living for very long. It's not easy, I know. The nightmares started yet?"

"Every time I close my eyes…" she whispered harshly. "I can't sleep… How do you?"

"Honestly?" he asked, resting his elbows on his knees. "Usually whiskey. But even that doesn't help sometimes."

"The heat… The light… How do you keep moving forward?"

His brows came together as he thought carefully about his answer.

"I kill whatever evil bastards I can find. I don't think about it. I stay away from fire if I can, though it's hard with this job."

He saw Sam return out of the corner of his eye. Sitting up, he cleared his throat and looked up at his brother, who shook his head. Pulling a card out of his jacket pocket, he wrote down a number on the back.

"This is my number, and my personal cell on the back. Call me if you think of anything else," he said. "Or if you just need to talk," he added quietly.

"Thank you," she said, taking the card from him.

They headed to the door. As Sam was opening it, she called to them.

"Wait. Agents. She said something else to me."

Dean turned to her.

"What did she say?"

"She told me to be thankful for my second chance. That she didn't give these away."

That was odd. What kind of creature would say something like that? What had the juice to spring someone from the pit with no problem? They both nodded to her and headed out to the car. Once they were inside, Sam looked over at Dean, puzzled.

"What the hell are we dealing with? This thing just pulled her from the pit, no big deal? There was no sign of sulfur or EMF or anything in the whole house."

Dean shook his head, trying to forget the memories that had pushed their way out.

"No way a demon could do that, not even for a crossroads deal. Ghosts can't do that either. There aren't many things that can pull someone out of the pit."

"A super-juiced angel. Death. Crowley. But that's it."

"Obviously not," Sam said, looking down at their small file again. "There weren't any signs of any of those."

Dean shrugged.

"But how would we tell if Death had been by? Or an angel? They don't leave behind any signs. Crowley would at least leave sulfur."

"We can't even find connections between the victims. They all died years apart, some in different states, all in different ways."

They rode in silence for several minutes, both trying to understand what they were missing.

"I think," Sam said as they walked back into their motel room. "I think I'm going to try and talk to another person that's been resurrected. Maybe if we do that, we can find some connection."

"Okay. Who are you going to go find?"

Sam shuffled through some papers.

"This guy. He's close. There's one or two others we could talk to, if you don't wanna split up."

Dean shook his head.

"No. We'll cover more ground if we split. Who else is close enough to talk to?"

"Ummm…" more paper shuffling. "Her. She wasn't resurrected, but she was a witness to Roberta's return. Maybe she saw something."

Dean smirked.

"What, like Batgirl?"

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the car keys.

"Hey!" Dean called.

"I'm not walking to the other side of town!"

Before he could object, Sam left Dean in the motel. Grumbling to himself, Dean gathered up some paperwork and headed out to find this other girl.

"Must be my lucky day," he said to himself with a smile.

She worked at the local bar, only a few blocks away. Walking in, he flashed his fake FBI badge and asked if she was working. The guy behind the counter nodded in the direction of a cute blonde girl.

"Taylor?" Dean asked, approaching her slowly.

"Yes?"

"I'm agent Gowan with the FBI. You mind if I ask you a few questions?"

She nodded and sat down at the table she'd been cleaning.

"Can you describe to me what you saw when Roberta Jenkins came back?"

Looking down at her folded hands, she breathed deeply.

"I was just coming out of the gas station with a bag of chips. One minute, there was no one standing on the corner. The next, she was there. And she wasn't alone."

"She wasn't?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No. There was this woman with her. She was tall and… beautiful."

The more he learned about this case, the less sense it made.

"Beautiful?"

"She looked like a supermodel. Tall, perfect hair… She was talking to Roberta. I don't know what they said, but whatever it was… it scared the old woman."

Offering Taylor his card, he thanked her.

"If you can think of anything else, please call."

She smiled and nodded, putting his card in her pocket. As Dean got up to leave the bar, he got a strange feeling. There was a distinct feeling that he was being watched. Looking around slowly, he could see nothing to indicate that anyone was stalking him, but he couldn't shake the feeling. Glaring at nothing, he turned and headed back to the motel.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The pit was always full of heat and fear. Screams pierced the muggy air, somehow muted despite the stone walls. Well. They weren't REALLY stone. They were petrified flesh. Centuries of fear and suffering would do that to a soul. A single being wandered through the pit, unaffected by all of the darkness around her. Wings folded behind her back twitched as she passed torturing souls. She looked for one, only one.

"Please!" they cried out around her.

Their wails did nothing to her. They were more like music in her ears than shrieks. Finally, she found the one she was hunting for.

"Come," she commanded.

It did as it was told. She led it up out of the pit and into one of her personal chambers.

"You do not belong here anymore. Time to go back."

With a snap of her fingers, the soul was returned to the land of the living. Now it was time to watch the chaos when the soul returned. This one had still had the hole in its head from when it had been killed. Of course, she had to remove that before sending it back up. The only thing she hated about going upstairs was she had to hide her nature, but it was a small price to pay. Bringing this one back turned out to be boring and predictable. It hadn't been in her kingdom for very long. Its family still wanted it back. A loud noise drew her eyes away from the celebrating. A shining, black, beast of a car drove by, a man with long hair driving it. It took her a few minutes to determine where she knew his face. Many of the souls that she judged and brought to the pit had met or heard of him. He was one of two. They called him Winchester. Names mattered little to her, but he was more than his name. He, and his brother, was a hunter. This would not do. Hunters solved problems that didn't need solving. Following the brother, she waited as he spoke to those she'd returned. What gave him the right? Just beneath her skin, rage began to boil. She knew who they'd seen first. In a moment, she was there, standing outside the perfect little house. Knocking was unnecessary. There was no threshold here. The dead, even returned dead, got no luxuries.

"Roberta," she called in a sing-song voice. "Roberta darling. We need to talk."

The old woman came around the corner, face pale.

"Wh… Why are you here? What have I done?"

"You spoke with two hunters, dear. I can't have hunters sniffing around and stepping in the middle of my game."

The woman's lip quivered. Humans were such weak creatures. It was disgusting.

"Bu… But what d-does that have to do with me?"

"You gave them a bone to chew on. They may be dogs, but they are smart dogs. They stick their noses where they don't belong."

"Please. I didn't tell them anything important."

She could feel her illusion slipping. Deep anger would do that. Her wings twitched beneath the skin.

"But you DID tell them something. Which is the bone you threw to the dogs. I can't let that stand. I have rules. A system. And you've ruined it."

The old woman shook her head and began backing away. Letting the fear and terror seep into her being, Ereshkigal unfurled her wings, letting them stretch to their full length.

"I am goddess of the dead. Irkalla is mine to rule as I see fit. I alone am judge of the dead. And you a guilty. Back to the pit you go."

Reaching out with one arm, she touched the old woman. She began screaming, the heat spreading through her body. Steam and stink rose from the flesh. Soon, she was no more than a pile of smoldering ash. Breathing deeply, Ereshkigal shook her body and hid her wings once more. Humans were afraid of unexplainable things. Things like a pretty woman with deep red wings.

With Roberta gone, the biggest source of the hunter's information was gone. Now, she just had to find out what they knew and decide what to do with them.

The motel the hunters resided in was repulsive. She was thankful that she did not have to live in a place like this. Inching as close as she dared, she listened carefully.

"So? You find anything?" asked the little dog.

"Not really," said the big dog.

"What does 'not really' mean?"

The big one sighed. "He wouldn't talk about it. He said he was thankful for his second chance at life and he'd vowed to be a better father. What about you?"

"Not really anything to work with. The girl I talked to said Roberta just showed up. That a tall, beautiful woman had spoken with her, but that was all she knew," the little one said.

Good. None of the others had been stupid enough to speak about what she'd done for them. But dogs did not let mysteries go unsolved. They would remain here until they were satisfied with the answer. She needed to speak to one of them, alone. But which one? The big, furry one seemed satisfied. He had no loved ones in the pit that she could taunt him with. But the little, angry one… He had many in the pit. It would be easy to offer him an impossible choice. Now all she needed was a way to get him alone.

"Maybe I can talk to Roberta again," the little one said.

"Sure. I'll go with you."

The little one shook his head.

"No. I'll go alone."

"Dean…"

The little one sighed.

"No, Sam. You weren't in the pit. You were stuck in the box, but it's different. You got tortured. I was tortured, but then I was the torturer. It's…" he got quiet. "It's different. I understand her."

The big one grumbled.

"Fine. Call me if you find anything. I'll start doing some research to see what could have the juice to pull this off."

The little one nodded and grabbed the keys to his loud beast. A smile came to her ruby red lips. This was too easy. It would be a simple thing to pull him into her game. And when he joined, his brother would be left alone, defenseless. Though, admittedly, few had defenses against her. She had to intercept the little dog before he reached Roberta's house. Perhaps she could have some fun before she put the animals to sleep. Focusing on the beast as it drove down the road, she blinked and opened her eyes in the passenger seat. The little dog barked a colorful word and swerved the noisy beast. These metal cans never made sense to her. Watching the humans create them had been odd. Though, they had sent her many souls to judge. The beast came to a stop and the little dog pulled a silver gun from his pocket.

"Hello," she said with a wicked smile. "I thought we should have a talk."

Throwing the door open, she stepped slowly from the beats. He may be a hunter, but he was still a man, and all men were easily distracted by an aesthetically pleasing meat suit. She stood the sidewalk waiting, swaying gently back and forth.

"What the hell are you?"

"You don't want to talk, Dean? I thought you'd be interested in hearing from me."

He stared at her, eyes and face serious.

"You can call me Eris. I saw Roberta Jenkins come back. It was bizarre. She just appeared, out of no where."

"Why are you talking to me? No one else would give me answers that made sense. Who are you?"

He was smarter than he looked. Perhaps he could be led to where she wanted with the proper motivation.

"I think I know who is bringing people back. You should call Sammy up and tell him."

"How do you know my brother?" he growled.

Some part of was attracted to the fierce loyalty in the sound.

"I know many things, Dean Winchester, son of John Winchester, friend of Robert Singer, lover of Josephine Harvelle."

He drew his weapon and pointed it at her, right between the eyes.

"You can't kill an immortal, silly little dog."

"What. Are. You."

She licked her lips slowly and threw her hair back, letting her chest protrude more than necessary. Men were simple creatures.

"Call your brother. Give him the name Ereshkigal. Then come back here and maybe we can talk for real. It's no fun playing with a dog that doesn't have a toy."

Her grey eyes smoldered like hot coals.

"I'll be waiting."

Turning, she walked away from him, swaying her hips. While she wandered around in her false mortal body, she could enjoy some of the mortal things. The greasy things they called food were her favorite. They would not sustain her, she needed fear and death, but they made her mouth happy. A shiver racked her body at the thought of devouring some of it. Taking a seat in a boot at the diner on the corner, she ordered the largest plate of chili cheese french fries they had to offer. There was no way to pay them with their silly paper, but the diner owner had lost a child some time ago. Perhaps an arrangement could be made. Eyes rolling back in ecstasy, she moaned in deep pleasure as she let the food linger in her mouth. She heard the little dog trot in, but she didn't move to intercept him. There was too much to enjoy right here. Let him come find her.

"Ereshkigal?"

"Please," she said wistfully. "Call me Eris. You mortals have lost the respect and honor of a name. And you, here in this strange country, can't even pronounce it properly."

Stuffing a few more fries into her mouth, she licked her fingers and stared at the dog across from her.

"Fine. Eris. Whatever. There isn't much lore on you. A Mesopotamian goddess of the dead? You have a sister. There are a few conflicting stories about you both, and I'm not sure what to believe. Nergal is your husband?"

She laughed musically. Mortals never recorded the stories right.

"I suppose technically, he is. But I think, to use your own language, he's my bitch. Becoming my mate is his punishment. He receives no enjoyment from our bond, I can promise you. But you don't want to hear that story. It's bloody and dirty."

His jaw clenched a little, and odd gesture.

"You know, I didn't expect you to look like this."

Her eyes moved from the plate of divine food to his eyes.

"And what were you expecting the goddess of the dead to look like?"

He pulled a glossy piece of paper from his coat pocket and handed it to her. It was an ancient carving of her, from a time when she'd been worshipped. A deep sigh came from her chest.

"Ahh. I see. They always tried to get it right. You have to give them credit for that. Their tools were very limited. But seriously. Do I look like a frumpy old woman?"

Her eyes flashed up to him, the color of a thunderstorm.

"What were you expecting, Dean Winchester. The goddess of the dead. Did you think I'd have horns and a pitchfork and red skin?" She rolled her eyes. "I'm not that dramatic. My sister on the other hand… SHE would do something like that. Always had a flare for the exciting."

"I've still never heard of you. No one I know has either."

Lightening flashed in her eyes, like in a summer storm.

"I am Ereshkigal."

"Yeah. You said that."

The clouds in her eyes darkened, turning them almost black.

"No respect for the old ways. No one knows. You would do well to treat me as I deserve, mortal. I am the judge of the dead. Nothing happens without my say so. I determine how your afterlife goes in Irkalla. It can be painful, hurtful, or worse. It is left up to me and me alone."

More greased food earned another quiet moan from her.

"You're the one that wanted to talk," he said after a long minute. "So talk."

"I want to make you an offer," she told him, licking her fingers again.

"I don't make deals with demons."

Her eyes rolled.

"That's one of the biggest lies you've ever told, Dean. Crossroads demons. You've even been known to deal with Crowley before."

Pushing her empty plate away, she leaned in close to him. He tried to back away.

"And do I really look like a demon? My eyes do not change color."

"But see that's the thing. Demons don't look like demons until they do."

He frowned at him.

"You sound like a fool. Do you want to hear my offer or not?"

She sat back, annoyed. Dealing with mortals was an exhausting endeavor.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I think I'll have to pass."

He began to slide himself from the booth.

"Even if I could bring your lover back to you? Or the one man you consider to be your father, though you have no blood relation?"

The movement stopped. Humans were so predictable.

"What?"

She smiled.

"I am ruler of Irkalla. I can come and go as I please, so long as there is no unrest. The restless dead are quite tiresome," she said with an eye roll. "I can bring souls out and send them in. Death delivers them to me and I judge them. I can bring one of them back to you. Precious Josephine or beloved Robert."

"At what cost?"

No fool, indeed. She had been right to pick him. The other one, the fluffy one, would use his brain too much. Can't have that.

"None. I do this because it brings me entertainment. I can let you live your life with one of them in it. But you must choose."

"How the hell am I supposed to make that kind of a choice?"

This game would be very fun.

"I can help with that too. I will give you two days. Forty-eight hours. The first twenty-four will be spent with Josephine, the other with Robert. After that, you can decide who you want the most. Your would-be father, or your would-be lover."

Dean shook his head.

"No way. Nothing has that kind of juice, not even Crowley."

"Crowley is a power hungry insect, nothing more. I am the goddess of the dead. They do as I command."

He was quiet for a long time. The server avoided their table. Humans may be stupid as a whole, but they perceived much more than they thought.

"What do I have to do?"

Excellent. He was easier than she thought.

"Absolutely nothing. Just tell me who you want to see first. I will send them to you first thing tomorrow. Then the twenty-four hours begins. What say you?"

Her wings twitched in anticipation as he pondered her offer. Ten minutes went by, but she hardly noticed.

"Deal," he finally said, eyes washed with emotion.

"Wonderful," she purred.

Standing, she straightened the too-tight shirt she wore and pulled him to his feet. Crushing her mouth to his, she held him tightly. When she released him, he moved back quickly, wiping at his mouth.

"What the hell was that for?"

Eyebrows raised, she shrugged.

"Isn't that how your crossroads demons seal their deals? I thought it would make you more comfortable."

Sighing deeply, she patted his shoulder.

"See you tomorrow, Dean Winchester."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When the goddess left the diner, Dean sat down. She had to be lying, right? Cas, Crowley, Lucifer, Michael, any crossroads demon ever… even Death himself refused to bring souls back. What made her so special? This wasn't the first monster to make a promise like this, to claim being a deity of some kind. Part of him wondered if he'd taken the deal just to see if she had the juice to pull it off. Maybe it would buy them enough time to figure out how to kill her. Absently, he rubbed his lips. She was by far one of the strangest creatures he'd come across. The cute waitress cleared her throat. Raising his eyebrows, he was about to ask what the hell she wanted when he saw the check. Grumbling to himself, he pulled out some cash and tossed it to the girl. Easing himself from the booth, he realized it was dark outside. There were two missed calls on his phone, both from Sam. Frowning, he began walking to the Impala. The familiar creaking of the door comforted him. Sam was probably worried, but he couldn't go back to the motel. Not yet. He had too much thinking to do. Instead, he drove around the little town. When his phone rang for the fifth time, he decided to head back. Pausing at the door, he took a deep breath.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Sam demanded as soon as the door had opened.

"Out. Doing my job."

"Out? Dean. It's almost eleven."

"So?"

Sam was annoyed and agitated. It was too easy to read in his face.

"So I've been calling you."

Six missed calls in two hours. Yeah. He'd noticed. Dean waited for him to continue. Clearly, he had something he needed to say.

"Did you talk to Roberta?"

He frowned. That had been his intention when he'd left, hadn't it?

"No. I…" what to say? "I talked to this hot chick at a bar. She gave us the name to look up. I went and buried myself in the library."

Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Dude. The library? You NEVER do the 'library' thing."

Dean shrugged.

"What? I was hoping for a hot librarian."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"I've been listening to the police scanner."

"And?" Dean asked, throwing his jacked on his bed.

"Roberta's dead. Burned. Like Kentucky Fried."

"Dammit!"

She'd played him. Eris had played him and he'd fallen for it. That was why she'd intercepted him in the car, distracted him with a name. She had been keeping him from finding Roberta.

"Dean?"

He turned back to his little brother.

"She was the only one that would talk to us. Guess we're going to the morgue tomorrow."

Dean glanced down at his watch. 11:25. Would it happen at midnight? She hadn't really said.

"Well," Sam said through a yawn. "I'm beat. We'll go take a look around Roberta's house tomorrow."

Dean nodded and sat down at the table. Pretending to read what little information they'd gathered, he listened for Sam's quiet snoring. The clock ticked by slowly. When it hid midnight, nothing happened. Glaring at the empty room and the empty bottle in his hand, he decided to go to bed. He still had a job to do in the morning.

Lazily, his eyes drifted open. The same crappy motel ceiling stared back at him. Sam still snored in the bed beside his. Throwing off the covers, he dragged himself to the fridge. It was early for beer, but he was in no mood to go through this day without one. It was going to be a crappy day. He'd let himself hope for something. Again. Only to have it torn away from him. Again.

"Balls," said a familiar voice. "Are you gonna get me some grub or stand there with your thumb up your ass?"

Dean spun around to see Bobby Singer sitting at the table. A napkin was tucked into his shirt collar and he held a knife and fork in either hand.

"Bobby? Is that really you?"

"No," he drawled. "It's the Dali Lama, ya idjit. Now get me something to eat. I'm starving!"

Dean looked down at his hand and saw a package of bacon. Hadn't he just been holding a bottle of beer? Bobby stared at him expectantly.

"But… you…"

"Died. Yeah. Bullet to the melon. Now hurry up. I don't got a lot of time to enjoy this."

Looking down again, Dean realized he was scrambling eggs in the bacon grease. Taking two plates filled with bacon and eggs to the table, he stared at the man across from him. Bobby shoveled the food into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in years.

"You realize this is all in your head, right? I'm still dead."

Dean nodded.

"Don't mean it ain't real."

"But how?"

Bobby stopped for a minute and looked at Dean.

"Think about it. You made a deal. Again. This is the result of that deal."

Digging into his own plate of food, he stared at Bobby.

"If you keep looking at me like that, boy, you're gonna have to buy me a drink."

"Sorry I just… I didn't think it would actually work."

"Listen to me. We don't have much time. There's more to this than you think."

"She told me I had twenty-four hours."

"Yeah. And that's the problem. That's 24 hours you're on your butt, defenseless. She's put you in something like a coma."

Dean's brow furrowed in thought.

"So what?" "Dean," Bobby said with a roll of his eyes. "You know better than this. I taught you better."

Looking down at his plate, he felt emotion well up inside him.

"It's too much, Bobby," he said, voice cracking. "I can't do this without you. Things have gone to hell since you…"

"Dean," he said, voice softer. "You've gotta do this without me. My time is up. We don't get second chances. This is the way things are supposed to be. You know that."

"I'm tired of the way things are supposed to be. We never catch a break."

Bobby shook his head.

"Get it together, Dean. You need to figure out how to get rid of this thing. Do your job."

"I'm sick of the damn job, Bobby! I loose everyone! Every time! How many times has Sammy died because of me? Mom? Dad? You? I'm sick and tired of hunter's funerals."

Their plates were gone now, though Dean couldn't remember clearing them.

"Well boo hoo. Cry me a river. You want me to put on some "Days of Our Lives" to make you feel better?"

He should have expected that reaction. Maybe he'd wanted it.

"I just wish things were easier."

"And I wish I had a steak in front of me. But we don't live in a land of wishes. We live here, in this crap heap. And it's YOUR job to make it better. Quit moanin' about it and fix it. Figure out what this thing is and stop it."

Staring down at the table for a minute more, Dean took a deep breath.

"Alright. You've been around her, right? What do you know?"

"She's powerful. Got some major mojo. She likes to play with people. Like a cat with a piece of string. From what I heard, she brings people back upstairs just for the heck of it."

"And she's really a god?"

Bobby shrugged.

"Far as I can tell."

Dean nodded slowly, thinking.

"We need to go talk to someone who knows more about mesopotamian lore."

Dean stood and they began walking out of the house. When had they left the motel? They both sat down in the car and Dean put the key in the ignition. It clicked. The engine refused to turn over. "Aw, come on, Baby. Don't do this to me."

He tried again. Click. Click.

"Lets open her up," Bobby said, exiting the car.

Popping the hood, he joined Bobby at the front, looking at the engine.

"Well I don't know what ya did to 'er, but she's broke."

Pulling tools out of the trunk, they began taking the car apart. They worked on it until the sun went down. Heading back inside when they couldn't see anymore, Dean grabbed two beers out of the fridge.

"You know our time is almost over," Bobby said quietly.

"Yeah, I know," Dean answered.

"I'm proud of you."

His chest twinged painfully.

"I miss you, Bobby."

"I know you do, son. I miss you too. But we both know I don't belong here."

Silent tears broke free from his eyes, dropping to the floor.

"She said I had a day. This was only half a day."

"Time moves differently in our heads. You've been out for too long already."

"I don't want you to go. I can't do this without you."

"Bull."

Dean shook his head and wiped at his face.

"Fine. Then I don't want to. Bobby, you were more of a father to me than he ever was."

"And you boys are the only kids I ever had. Don't you forget that. And don't you go makin' deals bringin' people back. I don't belong here. I wish I could be here with you, but I can't."

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered.

"There's nothin to be sorry for, boy. Anything that happened to me was my own choice. Don't take on blame that ain't yours."

He looked over to where Bobby sat only to see the chair was empty. The ache in his chest tightened, threatening to choke him.

##

Ereshkigal stood over the two pups as they slept, wings twitching with desire. She let them unfold, just for a moment. The little dog was deep in his dream with his lost loved one. But the fluffy one… He slept with the easy breathing of peace. Leaning close to him, she breathed onto him. The effects would take some time, but she was immortal. Waiting was something she'd mastered centuries ago. As the furry one stirred, no doubt by her foul breath, she left to find something to eat. Perhaps it was time to find a deep fried Twinkie, whatever that was.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dean woke groggily, peeling his eyes open with sheer willpower. Why was he so sore? Groaning, he rolled over to see Sam still fast asleep. He hadn't gone for his morning run? That was odd. Shaking off the strange exhaustion, Dean got up for breakfast. Somewhere, he smelled eggs and bacon grease. He thought through his conversation with Bobby. They needed to see Roberta's remains and figure out what they meant. Maybe the could offer a clue about Eris and how to get rid of her. What had she told him? That he would see two people again and then make a choice? After seeing and talking to Bobby, he knew she had the power but… Would she really bring back Jo? Did he really want her to? Listening to his little brother sleep, he decided to go find the goddess and ask. Grabbing his army green jacket, he shrugged into it and started walking. She had a thing for junk food. That shouldn't be too hard to find in a town this size.

##

Ereshkigal sat on a bench with a large, hot styrofoam container on her lap. The shorts she wore did not cover most of her long, tan legs, but that was the point. She wore a thin orange tank top with bright yellow letters that read "#YOLO". Every man stared at her and it pleased her when they did. She wouldn't dare let one of them so much as drool on her, but the attention from the little animals was satisfying. Perhaps when she went back down below, she could entertain herself with Nergal for a while. He was by far the most exciting pet she had. Pet. Husband. Same difference.

Opening the squeaking lid of the white container, she stared at the golden treasure it held. Hot, melted cheese dripped from almost every corner of the box, running down her thigh. It would have burned one of the mortal animals, but she reveled in the pain it brought. Digging her long fingers into the pile of nachos, she brought them to her lips with a satisfied moan. Her whole body shook with pleasure. The small chips couldn't handle all that she'd put on them and several of the toppings fell off, not that it mattered. It was a glorious mountain of cheese, chips, refried beans, onions, some diced tomatoes, the hottest salsa she could find, jalapeños and green onions. In all honesty, there was more of the melting cheese than anything else. It ran down her hands as she shoveled more into her mouth. For being inferior creatures, these mortals certainly had a skill for making spicy food. Eyes rolling back in intense pleasure, she swallowed the latest mouthful.

"Really, Ereshkigal? First a whole plate of chili cheese fries and now nachos? You're going to loose your figure."

Gray eyes flashing open, she took in the woman standing before her. The blond was built like an athlete, clearly out on a jog. Her shorts were just long enough to cover her backside, but nothing else. Little was left to the imagination. The shirt, clearly designed for someone half her size, read "Make PEACE not WAR". With an annoyed eye roll and sigh, Eris began cleaning the cheesy mess from her face.

"The irony is strong in this one," she grumbled as the blond sat down beside her. "What are you this decade, sister mine? War nurse? Decide to be a stable boy again? You certainly enjoyed that in 1915, bedding as many soldiers as you could."

"I'm a sorority sister now!" the blond bubbled.

Picking at something in her teeth, she stared at the blond.

"Ishtar, that's a little outside your comfort zone, isn't it?"

She sighed in exasperation.

"Why does war always have to involve death and blood?"

Giving her little sister a flat look, Eris said "Because that's what war is."

"I'm quite well fed in my house. There is lots of strife and subterfuge there, you'd be surprised. I am quite satisfied with it."

The way her dark green eyes glittered, Eris guessed she didn't just mean feeding on the strife.

"You like frat boys now?"

Ishtar moaned and leaned back, a wickedly triumphant smile painting her lips.

"What isn't to like? They never say no and they go on for-"

"Oh just stop!" Eris yelled, attracting attention. "I don't want to hear about your exploits!"

The green in her eyes deepened.

"You asked," she said with a raised eyebrow. "You know better. War is not my only gift."

With a repulsed shiver, Eris dug back into her treasure trove of cheese.

"You do know there are two hunters in town, right? The Winchesters. They're awfully pretty…"

"I do. One is playing along with me and the other won't survive the week."

"Oh!" Ishtar said, her face pouting. "I do wish you'd told me! I could have had some fun with him! He wouldn't have even known he was dying!"

Eris shook her head.

"No. It's too dangerous. They don't know you're here and I'd like to keep it that way. If they did and somehow managed to call any of their fellow hunters, you'd be dead by the end of the week."

Ishtar was similar to Ereshkigal, but not exactly the same. Eris had given up her right to life in order to rule Irkalla as she saw fit. Ishtar would never grow old and die, but she could be killed. Her flesh was still mortal, though it did not age.

"You're so dramatic, Ereshkigal. They don't know how to kill me."

"These dogs are not like the others you've bedded to death. They'll start with cutting off your pretty little head and see where that gets them. You don't want to know what they'd do to you. I won't let that happen."

Sighing deeply, Ishtar rolled her eyes.

"Fine. If you insist."

Resting her hand on Ishtar's, Eris smiled.

"It's my job. I'm your big sister. I married a god and keep him imprisoned in my kingdom because he insulted you."

"That wasn't just about me. He insulted you too. How is the big oaf? Have you let him out of his personal hell yet?"

Eris shrugged, sliding a finger along the edge of the styrofoam, gathering cheese.

"No. He hasn't said the magic word."

"How long has it been this time?"

"Only two hundred fifty mortal years. Hardly a blink of an eye in Irkalla."

Ishtar giggled.

"And the magic word?"

"Today it's popcorn. Tomorrow, it'll probably be something different. You'd think he would know better by now. Someday he will give me the respect he ought."

Glancing down at her watch, Ishtar stood and stretched. Eris had gotten looks when she'd walked around in her tank top and short shorts. Ishtar stopped traffic. Literally. Men and women both gawked at her as she stretched herself. Goddess of fertility… Anyone who survived the week would be giving birth in a few months.

"Stop distracting the human race. I've got a meeting," Eris said, nodding to a man approaching them.

Ishtar moaned.

"He looks so yummy! Please?"

"That's the one I'm playing with! Now go before he figures out who you are!"

Ishtar rolled her eyes and began jogging, thriving in the attention she got. Closing the empty box, Eris threw it in the garbage as she stood.

"Good morning, Dean," she said with a deep sigh.

There was something so… fulfilling about a good meal. She did not miss his eyes wandering over her. So easily distracted, these dogs.

"What the hell," he grumbled, glaring at her.

"Hell is my domain. What do you want with it? You miss it?"

"What? No. No! I just mean. What the hell with Roberta Jenkins? Why did you kill her?"

Eris gasped.

"Roberta is dead? When? How?"

Dean stared at her flatly.

"Burned to a crisp in her house. Doors and windows locked. From the inside. I know it was you."

"Do you, now?" She said, raising an eyebrow as she slid her hands into her pockets.

"That wasn't 24 hours."

Smiling, she began to walk.

"But it was. I never said who's 24 hours it would be. I even gave you an extra hour. That was 25 hours in Irkalla."

He shook his head as he followed her.

"No. It was all in my head. It didn't really happen."

"Didn't it? Could you not taste the eggs this morning? Were your muscles not sore from working on your car all night? Your heart did not ache when you saw the empty couch after you woke?"

He had no response.

"I have great power, yes. But it has limits. I cannot waltz the dead in and out endlessly. The door locks from either side if I try to move souls too much."

"I don't believe that."

Sometimes she thought this particular pup was too smart.

"Fine. I can take them out as much as I want. But they don't know that. They believe it's a one way trip and I need it to stay that way. If the souls learn that they can come and go endlessly, it will be a mess down there. I have had peace in Irkalla for almost 500 years. It was hard fought."

They were quite for a few minutes as they walked. He was lost deep in his own thoughts. Mortal thoughts were so trivial, so narrow-minded.

"When were you last upstairs?" he asked.

Perhaps not so trivial…

"Mmmmmm," she said, thinking over how many souls had come to her in those years.

She and Ishtar had made a perfect team in those days.

"I was last upstairs in 1942. It was a glorious year. There was much to be done. The souls tried to revolt in your year 1950. Why?"

"You go underground after a big harvest."

"I only remain in Irkalla if I choose to."

He was getting dangerously close to learning something that a dog ought not know. Time to redirect.

"How was your time with Robert?"

"It was…"

She watched him try to decide if lying to her was the safest option.

"It was nice," he finally said, honestly.

The sincerity in his voice surprised her. Of course she knew Robert had raised the boy, but she hadn't expected him to answer her honestly about how he'd enjoyed visiting with his friend again. This would be fun when she returned his lover to him.

"Why did it take so long?"

"What?"

"Why did it take you so long to get Bobby to me?"

He really was a thinker. Perhaps she should have chosen the shaggy one to toy with.

"I had to wait until you were no longer conscious. Entering your mind during a dream state is not as easy as it sounds, despite my many talents."

Suddenly his walking stopped. Mortals were so sensitive about their mind space.

"Wait. You were IN my HEAD!?"

She rolled her eyes and shrugged.

"How else was I supposed to project Robert's soul into your mind?"

Minutes passed as he glared at her. His features were pronounced so much more when he was angry. His eyes were darker and she could see him fight the dark nature he carried with him. It was taking everything he had within him to keep from trying to remove her head right now. A strange warmth and desire welled in the pit of her stomach. She'd never desired a mortal before, not like this. Perhaps while she still wore her mortal flesh, she would try something new that had nothing to do with food.

"Are you going to do the same thing with Jo?" he asked quietly, his face changing.

Longing colored his eyes, deep guilt and sorrow mixing in with it.

"I will, yes. As soon as you slumber tonight."

"Can you…" his voice cracked. "Can you give us more time?"

Again this dog surprised her. He held much more emotion than he let on. Tilting her head to one side, she felt her stomach rumble despite it being full of nachos.

"I will consider it."

He stared at the cement, hands in his pockets. He looked very small in that moment, full of so much emotion. It was so easy to read, like a children's book. Guilt touched everything he felt. These two that he loved so dearly were dead because of him. Or so he believed.

"I do have to say," she said, interrupting his emotional breakdown. "I very much enjoyed our date yesterday."

Her sister may have gotten all of the talent for fertility and love, but flirting was common to every female. His eyes shot up and his face paled.

"We," he said, motioning between the two of them. "Did NOT have a date."

"Is it not your custom to have the male pay for the female's meal?"

"That was NOT a date!"

She smiled.

"Wasn't it, though? We talked, got to know each other better. It even ended with a fascinating kiss. Tell me, little dog, in what way was it NOT a date?"

Mouth open, he stared at her, unsure how to proceed. It was so much fun to play with the animals.

"There has to be SOME attraction between both parties."

Her eyes rolled lazily.

"Dean. Do you think I miss the way you stare at me? I wore that shirt for you yesterday. You do still enjoy 'The Smurfs', do you not?" She watched him with wicked pleasure. "And YOU kissed me back. It has been some time since a mortal has been brave enough to try."

He stared at her, mouth still open. The poor little puppy.

"I'm starving. Are you hungry, little pet?"

Holding up a single finger, she saw the fire return to eyes.

"I am no one's pet."

"Fine, fine. Are you hungry?"

He shrugged.

"I could eat."

Taking his hand, she pulled him along until she found the little cart she'd been longing for.

"Buy me one," she said, pointing to it.

Brow furrowing, he looked at her oddly.

"You want a hotdog?"

Smiling brightly, she nodded.

"Yes."

Walking with him to the little cart, he pulled out the animal hide that held the paper he paid with.

"Two hotdogs please."

The short, fat man looked at her, eyes burning with lust. Ishtar wasn't the only one to make people stare.

"What would you like on it, Miss?"

"I want the biggest one you have. Cover it with everything."

The man looked her up and down, shrugged, an did as she asked. Dean handed him the green paper, shaking his head the whole time.

"No, no," she said. "That's not everything."

The fat dog stared at her, confused.

"That's everything I have for hotdogs."

"I didn't say everything for hotdogs," she growled back. "I. Said. Everything."

Dean stared awkwardly at her as the other man put the other toppings on the hotdog.

"You do realize those are ice cream toppings, right?"

She looked down at the food in the man's outstretched hand. Horseradish, mustard, ketchup, onions and chocolate sprinkles covered it. Dean looked like he would vomit. It tasted divine, no matter what anyone else thought.

"Okay," she said twenty minutes later. "So you want more time with her?"

He looked away form her.

"How much more do you want? Again, this will all be in your mind, so it will move differently."

Rubbing at the back of his neck, he shifted his weight in discomfort.

"How much are you willing to give?"

She almost felt bad for him. Almost.

"Depends what I get in return. I gain nothing by letting you be with her longer."

"What do you want."

That was a good question. What DID she want? The strange warmth in the pit of her stomach returned. Perhaps his love of this girl would not be strong enough.

"Are you sure you want to know the price of your request?"

"What do you want," he repeated.

"I will give you six extra hours with her, 30 hours total, if you do one thing."

His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared.

"Kiss me like you'd kiss her. If I don't believe it, I cut your time in half."

Running a hand over his mouth, he glared at her. If flames could have shot out of his eyes and killed her right then, he would have done it.

"Make me believe it or you get twelve hours."

"30? You promise?"

She nodded slowly, anticipation shooting electricity through her flesh.

"How do I know you'll actually give it to me?"

"You don't. But you can rest assured that I will give you twelve hours if I am not satisfied."

The indecision in his eyes fascinated her. He wanted so badly to be with his female, but he did not want to buy that time in this way. Clearly, his desire was stronger than his reluctance. Determination sharpening his already strong features, he strode to her. Few had kissed her with such intensity. Nergal never even dared to kiss her at all unless she commanded him. Such was her strength and power. But he did not hold back. Too soon, in her opinion, he pulled away. Leaving her eyes closed for a few moments more, she let the feelings wash over her.

"Well, Dean Winchester," she spoke slowly. "That was quite satisfying."

"30 hours. You promise? Say it."

Finally, her eyes fluttered open.

"After that? I may even throw in a few extras. Most mortals are afraid of the power I wield. You certainly did not hold back. As soon as you lose consciousness, it will begin."

Running a finger along her lower lip, her gray eyes smoldered up at him.

"See you tonight, pet."

##

Dean walked back to the hotel, disgusted. Not with the thing he'd just… No. Disgusted with himself. He'd bargained for more time. Why hadn't he done that with Bobby? Cause he really didn't think it would work. Opening the motel door, he saw Sam shuffle out of the bathroom.

"Mornin' sleeping beauty," he said.

"What time is it?" Sam asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Looking down at his watch, he hadn't realized the time.

"Well. Morning is a bit late. Looks like it's lunchtime, Sammy. You feelin' alright?"

Rubbing at the mop on his head, Sam nodded.

"Yeah. I guess I was more tired than I thought. Time for the morgue?"

Dean nodded and they headed out.

The morgue was useless. Nothing spiked at the house either. A frustrating day driving around the little town and they had nothing to show for it. Dean watched as Sam collapsed on his bed. Why was he so exhausted all of a sudden? It didn't make any sense. Sitting at the table, listening to Sam snore louder than the night before, Dean knew there was only one way he'd fall asleep. Pulling open a brown bag he'd picked up while he was out, he opened the bottle of whiskey. Not bothering with a glass, he began drinking. He didn't remember falling asleep. He didn't remember moving to his bed, either. He didn't remember bringing a girl home. Slowly, he moved his arm and realized the warm spot in the bed beside him was empty.

"What the hell, Dean?" she scolded.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Jo?" he asked, sitting up.

She glared back at him, all beauty and anger.

"What the hell did you do, Dean? Did you sell your soul again?"

Hearing all the rage in her voice shouldn't have made him so happy.

"No," he whispered huskily. "I didn't sell anything. I just… It's so good to see you, Jo."

She smiled a little.

"It's good to see you too."

Thirty hours. He had thirty hours, but it wouldn't feel like it. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance for him to say and do the things he never did. He got up and strode to her as quickly as he could without actually running.

"Dean-"

He cut off her words with the kiss he should have given her years ago. Her hands were outstretched in surprise for a moment before she melted into him. Unsteady hands moved through her golden hair, pulling her closer. Reluctantly, he pulled away.

"Wha…" she trailed off before clearing her throat. "What was that?"

Resting his head lightly against hers, he ran his left hand across her cheek.

"Something I should have done years ago."

She closed her eyes and held his face gently.

"Dean, I shouldn't even be here."

"Shhh. That doesn't matter right now. There isn't much time."

"Of course it matters. You don't get something for nothing, you know better than that. There had to be fine print."

"There isn't."

She stepped back from him, her face a mixture of anger and sadness.

"Dean, there's always fine print."

"I don't care."

"How long am I supposed to be here?"

He put his hands in his pockets. When had he dressed?

"Thirty hell-hours."

She put her hands on her hips. He tried not to smile.

"Hell hours?"

"They move faster than normal."

He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was more of a countdown timer than a clock.

"We've got twenty-eight left."

Slowly, her demeanor changed. Now she was less full of anger, more full of… something else.

"If we've only got twenty-eight hours to live, how about we make them worth living?"

##

Ereshkigal stood over the sleeping pups again. All she needed now was for the little one to make his choice. Once he did that, he belonged to her. She could judge him as she desired and do what she pleased with him. He had only to make the decision and it would be over. His brother wouldn't be far behind him. Carefully looking over the second brother, she observed as her foul breath took its hold. It needed to be a slow death or the little dog would learn the truth too soon. Pulling back from the sleeping forms, she turned to Ishtar, who stared with blatant lust.

"Get. Out." the elder growled.

Just beneath the skin, her wings twitched. If she wasn't careful, her true form would emerge.

"Oh come on, Eris. You can't have all the fun."

"This isn't about fun, Ishtar. This is about keeping us safe. Now leave before you wake them."

With emerald eyes rolling, the blonde pushed passed her older sister to stare at the dying man. Long fingers ran through his long brown hair. The sexual tension in the room was almost visible.

"Tara…" Eris warned, wings pushing out from under the illusion.

"Oh, please? It would a much more fun way for him to die. This is agony."

"Agony is what he deserves for all that he's done. Leave him be. If you rush it-"

Suddenly, he began gasping for air. No! It was too soon! Releasing any hold she'd had on the illusion of flesh, she flew to the younger Winchester's side. As she extended her hand, she saw her skin darkening.

"Damn fool!" she yelled.

She could not undo Ishtar's power. Turning to her little sister slowly, she felt fire boil up in her gut. She always fought to keep it restrained around Ishtar. But right now, she wanted to feel the flames run through her blood.

"What have you done," she hissed.

Ishtar had changed too. Her own feathered wings had unfurled and stretched out behind her. The tanned skin had taken on a pale green hue, her veins turning from red to gold. The two sisters were a study in contrasts. Ishtar became the embodiment of spring, all green fertility and lust. Ereshkigal looked like the pit in which she lived, the color of dried blood. Her eyes, normally a pleasant gray, darkened until they turned black.

"Get out before I make myself an only child!" she yelled, her voice deep with an inhuman tone.

Ishtar's green glittering eyes filled with tears and she tucked her wings back.

"I was only trying to help!" she sneered before disappearing.

Turning back to the Winchesters, she frantically tried to think of a way to undo what Ishtar had accidentally done. Something began to tickle her mind, just on the fringe. What was that?

##

"Dean," she said quietly, resting against his chest. "What am I doing here?"

A lump came to his throat.

"We talked about this already."

"No. What am I doing here? Answer me honestly."

The lump got larger and more painful.

"Because I love you, Jo."

Her eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking out.

"Please don't make this harder than it has to be. I died. It's over."

He shook his head.

"But it doesn't have to be. I can get you back."

She sat up.

"At what cost? What does this thing want in return?"

"Nothing."

Jo's eyes narrowed.

"No way. Everything wants something. There's no way she lets you walk away from this. She's killed for a lot less."

"Then I'll quit. She'll have no reason to send you back if I don't hunt her."

"Dean…" she said in a scolding tone.

He knew what he was saying, and he knew he shouldn't be saying it. But being here with her in his arms, the way it should have been… He didn't care. Consequences be damned.

"I'd quit for you, Jo. I was a selfish coward and couldn't tell you before you… left. We could hide out, off the grid. Nothing would ever find us."

"Something always finds us," she said in a flat tone. "But what about your brother? You'd never just abandon Sam."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Sam never wanted this life. He's only here because I am. If I get out, he can go have a family. Have a hundred little Sam's running around a big house."

He leaned his head back down on the pillow.

"What about you?" she asked quietly. "You want little Dean's running around?"

"No," he answered too fast, tone sharp with bitterness.

He felt her sigh.

"Oh."

"Jo…" he said, trying to explain something he didn't really understand.

"No, no. It's alright. I understand. The life we lead doesn't really lend itself to having kids."

He sighed deeply and sat up so that she looked at him.

"It isn't that I don't want kids, Jo. Or even that I don't like them. I love kids. But. I'm not father material. I don't wanna take the chance of becoming… I won't. I can't do that to them. I don't want them to grow up the way I did."

"You are not John."

He looked away from her. She didn't understand. He cared the same burden his dad had. They were the same. Soldiers. She grabbed his face and made him look into her eyes.

"You're. Not. Him."

Gently, he ran hand through her silky hair.

"I don't want you to go."

A sad smile graced her lips as her eyes went glassy.

"I know. But I can't stay. You know that. If you make this deal and bring me back, I'll kill you myself."

Letting himself slide down, she curled into him. How was he supposed to let her go after this? When she'd died… it had almost killed him. And now, after all this. After telling her how long he'd loved her… He was just supposed to be okay with her dying again? Cause that's what was going to happen. She was going to die all over again, because of him.

"I don't know if I can promise you that, Jo."

Maybe it was time to make his choice.

"How much time do I have left until I go back?"

He glanced over at the clock.

"We've got just under five hours left."

"Well then," she said as she sat up. "We'd better make the most of it."

That was it. That gleam in her eye. The spark in her voice. Those were the things that had made him fall so hard.

"Jo," he began.

"Shut up," she said, kissing him deeply


	6. Chapter 6 (Final Chapter)

Dean wrapped his arms around Jo tightly, pulling her close. He could feel the tears running down her face. There wasn't enough time. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her until he'd gotten her back. Suddenly the walls began shaking.

"What the hell?" he said, sitting up.

Jo tensed but she wasn't scared. Nothing scared her. Abruptly, an image of Castiel appeared at the foot of the bed.

"Cas? What the hell are you doing here?"

It was more than a little embarrassing to have him standing there.

"Dean. You need to wake up. It's-"

The image of the angel shorted and vanished.

"Dean. Who else did you bring back?!"

"No one! He's not dead! He's an angel and-"

"Wake up!" Castiel boomed, voice full of authority and desperation.

Suddenly Dean was standing beside his friend, Jo at his side.

"Cas. What are you doing in my head?"

"Trying to save your life. You don't know what you're dealing with."

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed.

"The goddess of the dead, Ereshkigal."

Cas's eyes widened.

"So you know who she is. Have you made the bargain yet? Have you said the words?"

Dean shook his head.

"Not yet."

His eyes narrowed as a thought struck him.

"Wait. How do YOU know her?"

He blinked once and then they were all sitting around the table.

"She made a trade for power. She was granted ultimate dominion over the souls that did not ascend to heaven, doing with them what she wished. Even Lucifer did not have same kind of power. Perhaps we gave her too much…"

Dean leaned forward.

"What do you mean GAVE her too much?"

Cas pursed his lips.

"That isn't important. The only thing that matters is that you can't kill her."

"Like hell he won't," Jo interjected.

The angel shook his head.

"No. I'm not saying he's not allowed to kill her. He physically can't. None can. That was part of her deal. She became a true immortal."

Dean sat back in his chair.

"So what the hell are we supposed to do? And why are you so worried about me taking the deal?"

The other man's eyes filled with worry and concern.

"Because she didn't tell you the true cost of the deal."

Jo punched his arm. Hard. "I told you, you arrogant ass. There's always fine print."

"What are you talking about," Dean asked, rubbing at his arm.

"She can take souls out if she wishes, yes. But she always takes one back. She'll let you make a choice without telling you about the third option."

Three choices? What did that mean? Bobby, Jo, and John? Did he WANT John back?

"No," Cas said quietly, as though hearing his thoughts. "Sam."

Suddenly everything fell into place. Sam sleeping all day, hardly moving. She'd done something to him.

"She intends to take both of your souls with her. She hates hunters."

How could he have been so selfish? He was supposed to watch out for Sammy, protect him. What was wrong with him, leaving his little brother defenseless? John's voice echoed in his mind and all of the feelings that came with that voice. Tears welling up in his eyes, he turned to Jo.

"I can't just…"

Tears coated her own face, but she smiled through them.

"Yeah you can. You have to. We all know Sam is your number one priority. That's how it should be. He's your family."

"You could have been my family too," he said quietly, squeezing her hands.

He shook his head, refusing to believe what was so clearly the truth.

"I can't loose you again."

"You're not," she said, resting a hand against his face. "I'm always with you. I'll watch your back."

Pulling her to him quickly, he tried to say every feeling he'd ever had about her in one kiss. All the memories he had flashed by, feeding the kiss. Even after it broke, he just held her there, as close as he could knowing it would never happen again.

"Dean," Cas said as quietly as he could.

Dean ignored him.

"You have an hour left."

Looking over at Castiel, Dean glared.

"Yeah? And then what? Sam and I run from the friggin goddess of the dead for the rest of our lives? Thanks so much for your help."

Cas tried to look empathetic. He ended up looking constipated.

"You can't kill her. But you can keep her down in the pit."

"How?" Dean and Jo asked in unison.

"Revolt," Cas replied, looking only at Jo. "That keeps her downstairs. She must restore order to her realm before she can come back up. If the souls under her watch are restless, then she stays down."

"No," Dean said, furious. "There has to be some other way."

The angel looked down.

"There isn't. I'm sorry."

Jo squeezed his arm gently.

"It's okay Dean. I can do some good down there."

"No," he said, standing. "No. It's not okay. You shouldn't… It's too dangerous."

"Oh give me a break, Dean. We hunted monsters as our day job. I worked in my mom's bar, for goodness sake. I'm good at stirring up trouble."

He looked at the clock. Less than thirty minutes remained.

"Can I have a minute," Dean asked Cas.

The angel nodded and disappeared. Dean held her close, closing his eyes.

"I don't want you to go."

"I have to."

He was quiet, gently caressing her cheek.

"Be careful. Don't get yourself hurt."

Ten minutes.

"You know me. Always finding trouble. I can still help people, Dean. I'll be alright."

"You can't just…"

"Dean."

Two minutes.

"Jo, I love you."

"I love you too, Dean."

Dean's eyes snapped open, lips still burning with Jo's last kiss.

##

She watched as he emerged from his dream state. No. He hadn't said anything. She growled. The furry dog kept gasping for air. Her wings stretched to their full length, hiding the little brother from view. This was not going as she'd planned.

##

Dean stood quickly, the chair clattering to the floor. He looked at the monster in his motel room. Her skin was a dark red, so deep it almost looked black. The gray of her eyes smoldered like coals in a fire. This was the thing he'd kissed for Jo? Somewhere behind her large bat-like wings, he heard Sam gasping for air.

"Sammy!?"

He began rushing forward. She put out a hand, though it didn't have fingers so much as it had talons. Invisible force kept him back.

"You. What have you done?!"

How long would Jo have to be downstairs before Eris had to go back? He had to buy time and hopefully save Sammy's life.

"I've taken my payment. You foolish animal," she said, her voice too deep.

"Sam had nothing to do with this! Let him go!"

"What is done cannot be undone. You've made your choice."

His choice. He'd said that he WANTED to pick Jo, but he'd never actually done it. Cas had interrupted them.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No I didn't. I haven't said what my choice is."

Her eyes darkened and she bared her teeth, which had turned into pointed spikes.

"You chose the female, did you not?"

"I never said I did. I never made my choice."

Her whole body shuddered and her wings twitched.

"Then, make. Your. Choice." she commanded.

Standing up straight and setting his jaw, he looked her dead in her lifeless eyes.

"I choose Sam."

"That wasn't part of the deal."

"You didn't tell me the whole deal, hell bitch."

The whole room felt hotter and he could have sworn he saw steam coming off her skin.

"Are you sure that is what you want?"

"Give. Me. Sammy."

Clenching her fists, she growled like a lion. A sound like a bird's wings echoed quietly from behind him.

"Castiel you bastard," she barked.

"Hello, Ereshkigal. How is Irkalla?"

Now everything about her was black except for her teeth and smoke rose from her skin.

"What have you done, you feathered fiend?"

"I've done nothing. You heard the man. He made his choice. Give him back his brother and return to your realm. You've no more business here."

"You fools will pay for this."

With a literal puff of smoke, she was gone. Sam had fallen out of the bed and was on the floor. His breathing was shallow, but steady.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, sliding to the floor beside his baby brother. "Sammy, wake up."

The younger Winchester moaned quietly.

"Sammy. Come on. Wake up."

"What the hell…" he groaned.

"Hey, Sammy. How ya feelin?"

Sam sat up and rubbed his head.

"What's going on?"

Dean looked around. No one was in the room, though it still smelled like burned flesh.

"You fell out of your bed in the middle of the night, hit your head pretty hard."

Sam continued rubbing his head.

"Come on, Sasquatch. Lets get you back into bed."

With great difficulty, Dean helped his brother into bed. Once he was settled back in, Dean grabbed the rest of the whiskey and went outside.

"Hey, Baby," he said affectionately. "You'll never leave me, right? You haven't let me down yet."

Leaning against the hood, he untwisted the cap of the bottle. Slowly, he took a long drink, letting the burn of the alcohol numb the rest of him. Castiel leaned against the hood beside Dean.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"Don't."

Another swig.

"You did the right thing," his friend said.

"I don't care. I'm sick of the right thing."

"You don't mean that."

Dean set the bottle on the ground.

"Don't I? Every time I do the right thing, I get screwed."

Cas remained silent.

"I wanted to take the deal, Cas. I wanted to get her back."

"I know," was all he could say.

"If Sammy wasn't on the line, I would have done it."

Cas sighed.

"She wouldn't have let it work out the way she promised. I'm sorry. I didn't realize how much you missed her."

"Me either. I just… We were happy, for a little while."

Again, Cas kept quiet.

"At least I got to say goodbye this time."

The angel nodded.

"I will do what I can to keep an eye on her. I'll try to make sure Ereshkigal does not find her."

Dean felt the lump in his throat grow again.

"Thanks."

"That's what you do for your family, isn't it?"

Dean smiled.

"Yeah, Cas. Yeah it is."


End file.
